Shell gas station with little neon green palm trees
perched upon the edge of the frenzied freeway,
          a picture of plastic paradise
     strewn with bright green lights
     like spotlights of limelight
     shedding light upon city life
               never far from the dark side...
    
     nearby, I spy
an assortment of street signs
to guide you into the night,
     so turn right, & drive right
     fly past the stoplight
     into the glare of red light
          & beware the districts of night life

the radio is
broken again
and this time
is the last time

Your songs no longer
fight the static.

the crunchy hiss
the empty stutter
between pops

crackling cackles,
unplugged from the wall
still playing the song
of something ending
into a new beginning

Your songs no longer
fight the static

but I still hum
them to myself

at the edge
of our universe

BG-4/8/17

Ego was stripped from skin
in layers until the trail of tears
was no longer visible to the blind
eye

Monks chant in the distance
as souls dance to the melancholy;
strength of the limb is tested
...wearing Sunday's best

Frayed rope is placed on ivory
rough against the delicate truth
only to be choked before it could be heard

Lover be ******; pained eyes meet
the noose being tightened by hands
that once cupped the breast of the Mother
...betrayal found in man's milk

Foundation is kicked away in one swift
motion; crushing the pathway of life
swaying with eyes wide open

Ego killed the delicate that day
a day of broken promises; dreams
forever became a lie, the lie truth

Delicate is still here in the shadows
swaying between trees in an eternal
dance in Sunday's dress
...waiting for the neck to fully break

Haunting Ego's chance~

i read like a thermostat
i feel cold shrill of eyes
hot blisters of souls

i’ve seen aplenty

fully literate to the hunger
inside denim of men
with twenty tongues

pulling their weight
like untrained dogs

they lick my face to a swell

heating and cooling
my metals expand
silvers contracting

but I can very much tell

who is ready
who is not

some do
some talk

if you'd like
to open me wide like a mouth,
be mean with your smile

to get my thaws down to feet,
**** fire to the wind

with the door
wide open

let
it
all
hang

i’m very keen on intense
i salute a heavy gut
and the confidence of a mutt

an appetite

and if I’m truly your win,
jackhammer
the thermostat
out of the wall

get the wires all bent
and with violence
cement

the
type
of
love
that
knocks
me
dead

completely illiterate
i don’t want to think

The rooks
Waddling
Up the roof tiles
Like drunken men

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK  2017.

Glimpses of hope bud among the trees and green,
give us much to look forward to.
It is the breeze that blows us in the direction towards life that we seek to continue, and dream about.
Warmth from the sun provides an unrealistic comfort, yet somehow
it is enough.
Spring of course, that subdues our winter blues.